Dave: Play the Piano
by madame of music
Summary: I saw a comic and wrote this story for it. I apologize in advance for any OOC-ness.


'Dave: Play the Piano'

Ever since the game ended, ever since the Scratch, you, Dave Strider, have been the only one to remember any of it. You remembered being god tier. You remembered you're older brother's, who was now your younger brother's death. You remembered lying there, next to his body, and losing your cool. Crying, screaming, and finally getting up, and having to act like nothing was wrong, like it was all okay.

You also remembered John. John Egbert, your best friend, the adorkable nerd, who loved Con Air and ectobiology. You remembered how he played the piano. How his fingers would dance over the keys, hitting each note, each chord effortlessly. You, like the rest of your group, always told him that he could be a professional musician.

After the Scratch, you bought a piano, and put it in your Texas apartment. At first, you could only play easy songs, like 'Heart and Soul' and chopsticks. You tried taking piano lessons, but all your instructors drove you crazy. They didn't understand why a punk like you wanted to play piano. They didn't understand that you wanted to play, to remember your best friend.

Then, one day, you decided you were done. You were going to sell that damn piano, and get some whores and alcohol and forget all about the game, and your past life. That's where Dirk came in. As you were walking towards the newspaper office, to submit an ad, you saw Dirk. A little baby boy, stuck in an alley, not crying, not whining, but waiting. At that point, you knew this little shit was yours. You grabbed him and took him back to your apartment.

A few years later, the piano sat in your spare room, untouched, since the day you found Dirk. You hadn't even thought about it since then. But Dirk found it one day. He crawled up on the bench and started plinking away on the keys like no one's business. When you walked in, a wave of nostalgia hit you. You suddenly remembered everything you had been trying to forget. You remembered your best friend, his sister. You remembered LOHAC, and the little orange crocodiles that inhabited the fiery planet.

The very next day, you dropped dirk off at daycare, but instead of going to work like you usually did, you went back home. You had decided that you were going to play that piano. You put on an old record of some ragtime, and paused it every few seconds, so you could get the keys. You did this for many hours, until you could play this song.

You went to pick up Dirk, a little later than usual, which you, of course, were chided for. But nothing could bring you down. You had learned that godforsaken instrument. You were that much closer to your old life, that much closer to John. You performed this same routine every day. Drop Dirk off at daycare, go home, and learn a new song.

A few weeks later, you were playing songs you remember John used to play. The ones he learned from his derpy movies. The ones he played from his favorite television shows. Even the ones he played by himself. Each note opened the door to another memory in your mind. Once in awhile, Dirk would sit and watch you play.

A few months after you started playing, something happened. Late at night, long after Dirk had been put to bed, you heard your name being called.

'Dave?' It sounded like John Egbert. But it couldn't be. John wasn't alive anymore. John had disappeared with the rest of them after the Scratch.

Slowly, you turned around. There he was, clear as day, standing in the piano room, smiling that smile of his, the one that used to equally make you want to punch him in the nose and hug him till the darkness went away. You reached out, and fell through air. John, the one the music had made you imagine, had disappeared back into the recesses of your mind. You fell of the piano bench, and curled up on the floor, silent tears dripping onto the carpet. You smiled, not necessarily a sad smile, but a smile for your old life. These past couple months, you remembered him. You remembered what he looked like. All of the effort you had put into playing the piano, into remembering him after you had tried so hard to forget, it was all worth it.

That night you slept on the floor, a ghost of a happy smile plastered on your face. The next morning, you would go back to your normal routine of work. The next year, Dirk would be in school. A decade from now, though you didn't know it then, your little bro would play the same game you did. But for now, you would sleep, dreaming only of what was.


End file.
